“I’m very pleased to hear that, Monsieur,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Perhaps you’ll call on me? I have a house in the centre of Paris where I meet my, er...friends. You'll visit me soon, won't you?”
“Yes, Madame, I will, most certainly,” I said. “When do you suggest?”
“Here,” she said, handing me an embossed card. “Tuesday afternoon. Be there at three o’clock. Is that agreeable to you?”
“I can hardly wait,” I said, putting the card in my pocket, overflowing with subdued excitement, feeling the urge to ravish her on the spot, but I restrained my desire. With a sweet smile she said, “Now, Monsieur Râteau, will you excuse me, I must circulate and speak to my other guests? ”
“Of course, Madame,” I said, bowing.
Lana went off, trailing her shiny midnight-blue Bettany dress after her, like the sail of an exotic ship leaving the port of Eros itself.
I found myself in a kind of delirium for the next couple of days. Everything seemed like a dream. I only half-heard conversations around me, only half-read a newspaper or a book. I wandered about in this emotionally overwrought half-world, seeing Lana’s beautiful face everywhere. If I noticed a woman in the street who looked remotely like her, I stared at her until she became angry and I became embarrassed.
Tuesday came along and I took a cab to the address Lana had given me. It was an old townhouse, in a side street near the Place Concord. I rapped the knocker on the front door and waited. A comely young servant girl answered and let me in, politely took my hat and coat and showed me upstairs to Madame’s ‘library.’ It was the strangest library I had ever seen. Shelves were bulging with leather bound books, hundreds of them. I walked around and glanced at the titles, slightly shocked when I realised that most of the books on display were pornography, by such authors as Sade and Rabelais. There were other authors I didn’t recognise although the titles left nothing to the imagination.
“What do you think of my little Forbidden Library?” the silky voice of Lana queried, from behind where I stood.
"I'm puzzled,” I said. “It’s unusual for a woman, especially one in your position, to have collected all these obscene books for her pleasure.”
“Look at me,” Lana said.
I turned about and with a loud intake of breath, I exclaimed, “Oh, my God, you’re beautiful!”
She stood there, posing shamelessly in a black leather corset, tied tight with leather thongs up the front, forcing her breasts together, heaving over the bodice, making them appear bulbous as if they were about to explode. Down below she was wearing black silk knickers, black stocking tops and ankle-length black leather boots.
“You like my demimondaine costume?” she asked with a broad smile, revelling in the role of beautiful prostitute.
I gasped, “Incredible, quite wonderful!”
“So...about my books, George. Do you find them interesting?” she asked, and came alongside me, so close I felt drugged by her heady perfume.
I nodded and said: “Pornography, as they say, is written for the hand, not the brain.”
Lana laughed and said she often used her 'right hand' when reading her collection.
"How did you acquire this amazing library?” I asked.
“Come and sit down with me and I’ll tell you,” she said.
Lana took my hand and led me to an elegant chaise longue, one with a dark wood frame, covered in soft green velvet. I sat next to her, longing to touch her, but not daring to. “Tell me, George, does my whorish costume excite you?” she asked, looking down at her pale desirable body with the assured confidence of a woman who knew she had a captive audience.
“Yes, indeed it does!” I said. “I imagine the brothel when I think of it.”
“I love perversity, George. Do you?” she asked, taking me by surprise.
I coughed. “I’ve never done anything really perverse, although I’ve always wanted to,” I told her.
“Perhaps you might allow me to lead you astray, yes?” she suggested.
“I would welcome that,” I replied. “You make me feel ready for anything.”
She giggled like a girl. “Now, perhaps, George, a glass of champagne, before we become better acquainted. What do you say?” she asked.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Let’s drink champagne.”
Lana rang down for the maid. She arrived a short while later with a bottle and two fluted glasses on a tray. The girl, aged about twenty, went about her business with the practised detachment required of a courtesan’s assistant, which of course, she was. She smiled sweetly and poured us both a glass of champagne, curtsied, and then left us alone. I’m sure this was routine for her.
Lana sipped her champagne first and then told me, “The story of my ‘Forbidden Library’ is a curious one. It was given to me by a Catholic Cardinal, an assistant of the Pope, a previous lover of mine. The Inquisition confiscated all these books over the previous centuries on behalf of the church. My Cardinal was in charge of them and was supposed to dispatch them all to Rome for storage in the Vatican archive, but secretly he kept them for himself. I believe he lied and said they were stolen en-route. After his death, he left this house and its library to me in his will.”
“Rather unusual, a Cardinal being an avid devotee of pornography, is it not?” I asked.
“My dear George, has life taught you nothing?” Lana said, “As far as sex is concerned, hypocrisy is the norm. What one says is not what one does.”
“It would appear so,” I agreed.
Suddenly, Lana’s mouth met mine; her fingers going down to my groin; mine were mauling her breasts. We were groaning, sighing, breathing heavily. I felt intense emotions, wild imaginings. We fell sideways across the chaise longue, my fingers digging into her buttocks, while she nimbly undid my trousers. In a few moments, she'd stripped me completely naked. Smiling, biting her bottom lip seductively, she stood over me, her hands on her hips, imperiously presenting herself as a sex Goddess, a deity of the kind the Hindus worship, in human form. My penis stood up around my navel, twitching, leaking nectar.
I was more erect than I had ever been before in my life. “Mmm...A fine ‘sword’ you have there, George,” she said, looking down at my cock, squeezing it hard with her right hand. “Mm, it's 'well-oiled' too,” she observed, “but can you ‘fence’ with it, can you ‘thrust and parry' like an accomplished swordsman?”
I said, as an ex-cavalry officer, I could.
“Excellent!” she said happily, “Come to my boudoir and we’ll test your skills out!”
With that, she led me, by my prick, to the room next door. Her boudoir was exotically furnished with lots of erotic pictures on the walls either side of a giant wood-framed bed. Lana pushed me down and knelt between my legs. “Prostitute’s use their mouths this way,” she said, handling my prick gently, giving little cat-flicks of her tongue under the fraenulum; then mouthing her way up and down the shaft, making sweet little “Mm’s” and “Ooh’s” as she did it. I was on fire seeing Lana perform such a taboo act, so eagerly and wantonly.
I screamed, "I want you!” stroking her loose long black hair that had now fanned out over my thighs.
She pulled away and said, while she pushed my prick between her swinging breasts, “George, I must tell you, my tastes are quite unusual. Like de Sade, I have a propensity for cruelty. Cruelty excites me! I like to give pain to my lovers before we have intercourse. I assure you, I’m a wild animal when I’ve been excited that way...” As an example, she produced a leather whip and flexed it in front of my eyes.
“Will you allow me to hurt you with this beautiful thing?” she asked.
“Yes," I said, "I’ll willingly endure it for you,” not caring, just wanting her, wanting her cunt, her mouth... her pretty breasts.
“Good boy,” she cooed, “then get on your knees.”
I assumed the position and she tied my wrists to the bed-head, while I waited with shivering expectation.
Lana got behind me and I heard the whip
whistle through the air. The pain was severe and I yelled, “Ugh!” and flinched when the leather kissed my skin.
“Mm, that’s lovely,” Lana said, touching the burning red mark she’d made on my lower back.
“Good boy,” she said. “Keep still, I’m going to strike again.”
This time the lash fell across my upper back. “Ouch!” I yelled, my body trembling with shock. I realised that Lana was a cruel bitch from hell, but I wanted her so much I had to let her torture me, to gain her amorous affections.
“There, there...my brave little soldier!” she said, soothingly, after she’d given me ten strokes of the whip, all over my back and buttocks. Soft emolument was smoothed into my wounds. It stung and I flinched. She confessed, “Mm...I’m very wet when I see what I’ve done to you, George; those deep crimson marks on your skin drive me mad with lust,” I was quickly untied and she reclined on the bed, on her back. “Now let’s see what that ‘sword’ of yours can do, George,” she taunted. “Thrust and parry...remember...” After removing her knickers and exposing her hairy cunt, she eased back the outer lips with her fingers, revealing the pink inner sanctum of her hidden ‘church, ’as she charmingly called it. I crouched at her ‘font’ for a while and drank from it. My little prayer seemed to work and Lana pulled me up to her face, panting with desire, kissing her juice from my lips with rabid abandon.“Oh...Oh, George...please put your sword deep inside me, now,” she gasped; her voice eager with anticipation. I cupped her face and kissed her lips, my tongue readily slipping between them; I lingered for as long as I could; delighting in her wild feline heat.
Lana yelled, “George, fence with me!” using her fingers to guide my penis to her quim. It slipped inside easily. Her love-tunnel was wet and accommodating and I can tell you we went at it like two dogs coupling in the street! I ‘thrust and parried’ at a speed and violence that made her scream: “My God, you’re as hard as a fucking post, darling!” saying it in a guttural voice, as if she were a lowly street whore from the worst parts of Paris. As her passion became more and more engaged, the filthier her language became. During intercourse, Lana uttered many filthy and wicked comments that astonished me with both their crudity and shamelessness. I confess, outside of a bordello, I had never heard such things from a woman’s mouth before. I was both shocked and excited by her sex-crazed ranting. After a prolonged joust, Lana popped her cork and flooded the bed. A great deal of screaming and howling went on during her climax. I’d never heard anything like it. It was the cry of an animal, completely primal, unhindered by any civilised constraint. It was so wildly exciting, that it only made my new lover all the more beguiling. After her lust had diminished, she looked up at me, smoothing back her long black hair from off her face and she said in an urgent tone of voice, a kind of erotic whisper: “I need your hot seed on my face. Shoot for me, will you?”
I was shocked to hear her say it. “I can’t do that to a lady of breeding,” I protested. “Only a filthy whore would permit such a thing.”
“George, listen to me, darling. I like to play the whore,” she told me. “It’s a charade, a game I like to indulge in.”
“It’s degrading, doing what you suggested,” I said.
“Precisely, my dear, I want that...Please, if you desire me, indulge me,” she said, her smile irresistible.
I reluctantly agreed to her demands and knelt on the bed. She embraced me, cupping my buttocks in both her hands, while kissing and licking my testicles as I masturbated near her gorgeous face. I felt ashamed to be doing this in front of a lady and so I shut my eyes. Soon, I felt an intense tingling in my groin and felt the springing of my seed. I yelled, “Oh, Lana! Oh, my God, I’m firing my canon!” Incredibly, she covered the spurting tip of my penis and sucked out my nectar, her deliciously erotic sounds only increasing my desire for her. She urged me. “Look at me, George...Look at your essence glistening on my skin, all these little pearls, the symbols of our pleasure...” I glanced down and saw her tongue sticky with my sperm. She licked her lips wantonly, doing her best to disgust me. I felt a strange mixture of elation and revulsion.
“You’re ashamed, aren’t you?” she asked, after she’d finished swallowing.
“Yes. I’m not used to women being so...” I said, kneeling next to her, trying to find the right words.
Lana finished my sentence for me. “...Women being so freely sexual, you mean?”
“I’m just not used to seeing society ladies behave like this,” I confessed.
Lana laughed, knowingly, with a loud “Ha!” then she said: “Look George, in this room, I’m not a Lady. I’m a bitch, a whore, a slut...”
“Why do you degrade yourself this way?” I asked.
"Because I choose to, my dear," she replied. “I have a secret life. I’m a little more honest than most when it comes to enacting my many fantasies. I find ordinary love-making boring.”
“Well,” I said, “at least you’re honest about it.”
Milky semen was dripping off her very pretty chin. “Even now, " I observed, “with you behaving like the filthiest whore in Paris, you’re still a beautiful woman.”
She giggled and said, “You seem unable, dear George, to reconcile physical beauty with depraved sexuality. I assure you they are not mutually incompatible.”
I kissed her forehead lightly, pulled back and whispered, “I’m beginning to realise how naive I am about what women really think about sex.”
“Good boy!" she said, happily. "Now you are beginning to understand. Kiss me, taste yourself. "
Our lips met and Lana shamelessly passed me her semen-infused saliva, laughed girlishly after doing it. “Something else you should learn about me...” she said, pushing me back on the bed and crouching low over my face, holding her buttocks apart and offering me her anus to worship. “Kiss my hole,” she said, shockingly, “I love it being licked. Don’t be afraid of it.” I was in her power again and so I buried my face in the cleft of her bottom, relishing stabbing my tongue inside her as deep as it would go."Yes, George, that's it, deeper, deeper!" she howled. I heard her groan and felt her push her hips against my chin. In seconds, my chest was soaked with a second flood of her outpouring, accompanied with screams and shrieks fit to wake the dead. Lana wiped me clean with a handkerchief, smiling benignly as if what she had done were a mere trifle: “I’m sorry,” she said, “my bladder sometimes is a little loose when I’m excited, especially during a wonderful climax. I apologise, George.” The sly smile on her pretty lips told me otherwise. “Oh, my God, is there no limit to your perversity?” I said, rinsing my mouth with champagne first, before spitting it out.
Lana laughed and replied, “Rich men pay a lot of money for that service in the brothels of Paris I’m told.”
“How charming,” I said, sulking a little.
“That’s enough excitement for today, George,” Lana said angrily, “You should go now. You obviously won’t be coming to see me again.”
“What? I simply must see you again,” I said, feeling devastated.
Lana looked at me: “I think, maybe, I’m too perverted for you."
“No, no. You’re NOT!” I exploded. A life without seeing her again was unthinkable. “Look, please, I want to be your lover more than anything,” I begged.
“I’m not sure...” she teased, the consummate sadist.
"Please, Lana, let me see you again," I said, not caring about the implications of my subservience.
She considered me, roasting me on a spit for a while, and then said: “Alright, George, but you have to understand, with me there will always be many surprises in store for you. It's my character, my way of being.”
"I accept you as you are," I said, knowing I might live to regret it.
Lana laughed girlishly, threw her arms about my neck and kissed me for a very long time.
Chapter 2
Paris: May 1890
Lana, Madame de Roch, and I, continued to see each other throughout 1890 and into 1891. My obsession with her grew
and our intimacy got wilder and wilder. Over time, she led me down many deviant by-ways. I was especially smitten with her love of what up until meeting I would have described as ‘unnatural vices’ and what Lana would laughingly call ‘the delights of the back door’; something that was unknown to me before meeting this beautiful, depraved woman. She had turned me from a simple upper-middle class young businessman into the most voracious consumer of deviant sexual practices, all this in just one year. I was now totally under her spell and she knew it.
Lana also introduced me to sexual pleasures in the bathroom and – despite my initial embarrassment – it became something that we regularly indulged in. ‘Drinking from source,’ as Lana charmingly described the act, was an arousing little game and, far from revolting me, it gave me an even deeper longing for my older, deviant, lover. I loved her utterly and nothing about her disgusted or revolted me, despite the occasional shock she gave to my somewhat naive notions about womankind.
Trained To Submit: First Time BDSM Story Page 19